19 October 2012

she hangs monocles
carefully on the dawn's
thin skin
three hundred
and three
at the pit head winding drums
turn
endless rotations
hoists
freshly greased
with pig fat
pull fish hook
rock
out of w i d e
mountain mouths
vast loads
of sharp
stone
endless bullets
soon to be hung
from crinoline cathedrals
shards of jet
laid in white sand
almost
blind
the sky
demands
a world
it can understand
demands
her fingers
her
femur
augmented into connecting rods
bones
her bones
cranking the shaft
hanging
from a pivot
part
of the machine
osseous tissue
turning axles as
sheave wheels cackle
into dark mists

03 October 2012

different depths of the lung
how it climbs
out
dear god brother
in the twisted knots of our years
lets wear our hair
dreadlocked and loud
we are all of our ingredients
your children will be all of theirs
let's clean the halls of our youth
with similarly greasy hands
I can't undo
time and what it took
or the arms length gasp of breath
as I released myself into
the sharpest edges of the truth
I remember fig trees
the smell of them
and the chunk of skin
missing between your toes
I was 7
years old
just as I am
now

sold
to the gut of my myth
roundabouts make strange compasses
steering the ship of my mind
around a concrete sea without
noticing
the illusion
in the desert of this city
left hand lane
indicator throbbing like a thin
alphabet a slow
pulse
two thirds full
the glass
on an empty table
if its inside out it's
outside in
Hebraic alterations
unstitching the language
we used we
used
concentrating on the magma
airborne ash and shattered rock
broken fire
I levitate
around the Greek root
as it pollinates through time into
the word that's on my tongue
the tip of it